


Objectivity

by EmmyAngua



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk John, Drunken Confessions, Embarrassment, Eyes, Hangover, John Watson's Blog, M/M, YouTube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmyAngua/pseuds/EmmyAngua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing John remembers is that he talked a great deal about Sherlock’s eyes last night. What he doesn’t remember is that he said a great deal more about them on camera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objectivity

**Author's Note:**

> For Trillsabells who gave me the prompt: "John, drunk or concussed, falls into Sherlock's arms 'You have very pretty eyes.'" I hope you enjoy!

Within seven hours of the video being posted, it has fifty thousand hits. John Watson sleeps on, blissfully unaware of the internet chaos he is going to wake up to.

\--

The camera wobbles, goes dark as the owner accidentally films his own hand, and then settles somewhat unsteadily on the person across the table. They are in a group, in a Wetherspoon’s, and there is talk and laughter all around. The person being videoed is clearly in mid-conversation.

“- I shit you not I opened the door and – are you filming me?”

“Nah!” says the slightly slurring voice behind the camera. “Jus’ checkin’ my emails.”

On the screen a very drunk John Watson blinks owlishly and turns to continue this conversation.

“Wait!” says the voice. “What were you sayin’ earlier? About Sherlock.”

“About Sherlock?” John echoes back. “Lots of things.”   

“’bout his eyes…”

John blinks again. “Eyes? Oh! EYES!”

A surge of drunken confidence overtakes him. He is no longer mellow and now has the evangelical gleam of a drunk who has found his subject.

 “Statistically right… statistically… you have to admit he has really pretty eyes…” he says it with a shrug and a wave of his arms, as if this is just another fact of life that he must deal with. Tony’s kids can’t switch off a light, Kev’s mother doesn’t understand Sky Plus, Liam’s dog digs up his vegetable patch, and John Watson has to live with Sherlock’s pretty eyes.

The guys all guffaw and begin throwing beermats. John bats them away and tells them to fuck off.

“I’m just saying that isn’t it like him? On top of everything else he has statistically pretty eyes!”

The throwing of things continues, the conversation rolls on, and the video stops.

\--

 

John remains blissfully unaware of the oncoming media frenzy when he wakes up the next morning. He is in his bed, which is good, he hadn’t vomited, even better, and although his memories are hazy he didn’t get so paralytic that they are gone for good.

He’d not been drunk like that in years though, what had he been thinking?

He sifts through what he can remember of getting home. Several of the old gang had still been with him by the time they reached Baker Street and… and Sherlock had been leaving just as John had been fumbling for his keys.

\--

 

“Where are you going?!” John had demanded. “It’s, uh…”

“Three in the morning,” Sherlock had supplied.

“It’s three in the morning!”

Sherlock tilted his head, glanced at their drunken audience. “Shouldn’t I be the one complaining about the time?”

“Oh get a ROOM!” Kev had shouted, giving John a shove forward into Sherlock.

“Yeah, fuck off the pair’ve ya!” called Neil. They turned to leave, and – as Kev tried to start a rousing chorus of ‘Delilah’ which turned the whole thing into a loud row about football – John was quickly forgotten.

John realised far too late that Sherlock had caught him when he stumbled and John had not yet made any effort to free himself. He pulled away a little, feeling the loss of Sherlock’s body heat a little too keenly.

“I meant to tell you something!” he said.

“You’ve realised how awful your friends are?”

“No! That’s just… them. What was it?” John looked up, directly into the very things he was thinking about. “Eyes! I meant to tell you about your eyes.”

There was a joyous moment when the great Sherlock Holmes looked absolutely baffled. “My eyes?”

John pulled himself free, pointed his finger at Sherlock, and jabbed his chest with it. “Statistically you have really… statistically pretty eyes.”

\--

 

John suddenly feels like throwing up, and it’s nothing to do with the alcohol.

\--

 

He doesn’t creep about the flat hoping to avoid Sherlock. For a start, he doesn’t know if Sherlock is back yet, and regardless of John’s embarrassment he is still extremely interested in where Sherlock had swanned off to. Besides, it’s Sherlock. He’s both vain and all too aware of John’s thought processes. He’ll have understood exactly why John suddenly found the prettiness of Sherlock’s eyes incredibly annoying and the only result will be that he’ll sneak more glances at his own eyes in the mirror when he thinks John can’t see.

Still, John thinks as he buttons up his shirt, he’d feel a lot better if he could pinpoint exactly _why_ Sherlock’s eyes annoyed him so much last night.

Sherlock is downstairs, fully dressed and at his microscope. John tries not to feel the irrational hatred the hungover feel for the sober.

“Morning,” says John around a yawn.

Sherlock gives a grunt that he probably considers a polite greeting. John goes to the fridge, pauses, and decides his stomach is not up to playing the ‘mysteries of the fridge’ game today.

“I’m going downstairs for coffee, want one?”

“Tea,” is Sherlock’s reply.

“Fine,” John turns to leave. “Oh… uh… about last night. Where were you going?”

He winces. He’d meant to casually bring up the ‘pretty eyes’ conversation but suddenly decides this is more important.

“Ran out of acid. It’s surprisingly easy to get hold of in the middle of the night.”

“That’s London for you.”

“Well yes, Bart’s woeful night-time security make the whole thing child’s play.”

John winces again but decides to address supply theft at another point. “Oh, er, about the… what I said.”

For the first time Sherlock looks up. John avoids his eyes.

“You meant ‘objectively’.”

“Pardon?”

“You said ‘statistically’ you meant ‘objectively.’”

“Yes well… I think I was just searching for a word that made it sound less…”

“Gay?”

“Weird. Anyway, uh, sorry. You know what it’s like when you mix a random thought with a bottle of tequila. I always end up getting pissed when I’m with the Rugby lads.”

“Because you don’t like each other much and have little in common besides a game you stopped playing regularly ten years ago and alcohol is all that makes a night of interaction with them bearable.”

John blinks, and decides not to start that argument.

“That must be it. Tea then?”

“Please.”

\--

That should have been the end of it. John’s first hint otherwise happens when he bumps into Mrs. Hudson in the hall.

“Ooh, bit of a late one for you wasn’t it?” she trills.

“Yes. Sorry if I woke you.” John shrugs awkwardly, still holding the uncomfortably thin plastic cups.

“Oh no,” she waves her hand and then winks. “I sleep like a log once I’m off. You boys never have to worry about waking me. But I did see the video this morning, ever so sweet! Some people were leaving nasty comments but I replied to all those with frowny faces.”

“Video?” John echoes.

“Yes. You in the pub. Haven’t you seen it? You had a lot to say about Sherlock’s _fine eyes_ …” she flutters her own.

A vision of Liam holding up a phone returns to John.  The same Liam who’d spent the slow period before any of them were pissed enough to have fun showing them his YouTube stats and interrogating John over how he’d got so many blog followers.

In retrospect ‘give them something newsworthy’ had been the worst advice _ever_.

“This is on YouTube?”

“Yes. Mrs. Turner shared it on my Facebook wall. It’s called _‘Jon Watson LOVES Sherlock Holmes EYES.’_ Your name is spelled wrong and I think there was supposed to be an apostrophe after Sherlock’s name, but you must all have been rather merry by that point…”

“Yes. Thank you Mrs. Hudson… got to go… coffee burning my hands…”

John rushes upstairs. He needs to find his laptop.

\--

 

It’s as every bit as bad as he thought. Worse even. Ten times worse.

Because yes, if he’d been some random guy talking about a random friend’s eyes the video might have gone viral and a few teenagers on the internet might laugh. John might have laughed. But Sherlock Holmes is… known. And _he’s_ known as Sherlock Holmes’s friend.

It’s on the Daily Mail’s website. There are already two thoughtful blog posts in the Guardian and the Indie _(‘Has John Watson struck a blow for heterosexual male appreciation?’_ and _‘Are they or aren’t they, and does it matter either way?_ ’)

The important factor here is that if Sherlock hasn’t already seen it, he’s going to see it very soon. He may generally ignore social media but if he doesn’t stumble across it then it’s only a matter of time before someone mentions it.

Speaking of… John picks up his newly charged phone and winces at the forty-two missed calls and hundred-and-seven texts.

The ones that aren’t from journalists are generally friends and colleagues either a) laughing at him or b) expressing concern for him. Nearly all have a smug ‘I knew it’ tone.

**From Greg, 7.39**

_Ha, I just saw the video. ;)_

**From Greg, 7.40**

_Oh Jesus. I’ve just seen the video and am fully processing it. Shit._

**From Harry, 7.43**

_So much for my insinuations now huh? Anyway gay, bi, bi curious, I don’t care. We are having a party!_

**From Molly, 7.49**

_Oh wow. I just saw the video. It was really sweet. Um, how did Sherlock take it? xxx_

**From Donovon, 7.59**

_His eyes. REALLY? Anyway looks like you had a good night. I take it Sherlock has taken a sudden unexpected case in Dubai or something?_

**From Greg, 8.00**

_It’s not that bad really._

**From Sarah, 8.01**

_I don’t want to say I told you so… but I’m thinking it pretty hard. ;) Here if you want to talk x_

**From Greg, 8.02**

_Well… it is a bit bad. How did Sherlock take it?_

**From Bill, 8.35**

_Sorry. Gotta do this once. GAAAAAY. In other news, fucking hell. Still here for you though, you crazy bastard! ;)_

**From Clara, 9.07**

_Oh dear. I take it you’re still hiding under your covers? If it’s any consolation most of the articles are pretty understanding. And I thought it was sweet. xxx_

**From Greg, 9.15**

_I’ll try and find something to keep him distracted if you like?_

**From Sherlock, 9.17**

_Are you ever going to bring that tea downstairs? SH_

John groans, hits reply, and sends back a decidedly sheepish ‘ok.’ His instinct is to crawl under the covers, but the tea is already lukewarm and he has to face Sherlock sooner or later.

\--

 

Sherlock doesn’t appear to have moved when John arrives downstairs. He takes the tea, grimaces at how cold it is, and doesn’t comment further.

John is left to hover awkwardly in the background.

“Sherlock?”

“What?” Sherlock snaps. “If you’re getting more tea can you get it upstairs before it goes cold this time?”

“It’s not about the tea,” says John. “It’s about the, uh, video. I take it you’ve seen it?”

Sherlock frowns and waves a dismissive hand. “We spoke about that earlier.”

“No…” John swallows. “I didn’t know… I only found out about the video just now. Christ Sherlock, it’s everywhere!”

Sherlock sighs. “Nothing we can do. If I could get Mycroft to blackout the media for ‘frivolous reasons’ do you think they’d ever had printed the hat picture?” He turns back to the microscope.

“Wait, don’t you want to talk about it?” John asks. He’s not sure why he feels the need to push the subject, but it seems too big for one of them to dismiss it so easily.

“We spoke about it earlier. Tequila. A random thought. Does it matter?”

“A friend rants about the prettiness of your eyes several times in one night and you, you of _all people_ , read nothing into that?”

Sherlock rounds on John again, only this time he stands and moves closer so that he is looming over John.

“ _Do you want me to_?”

“You know what, it wouldn’t hurt. Because everyone seems to have an opinion about it except me!” 

Sherlock groans and steps away. “Do you know how frustrating it is that you don’t know? I am, as you delight in telling me, not always perfect when it comes to interpreting emotions. Yet now, when you are clueless about your own, you expect me to just look at you and know?”

John opened his mouth, not at all sure what he was planning to say, but Sherlock still had more.

“If you want my expert opinion then fine. You’ve downplayed your hangover all morning suggesting you don’t want me to know about it, which indicates embarrassment about last night. You’ve taken no painkillers so you feel the punishment is deserved. You’re therefore not proud of last night and are ashamed of any conclusions I might draw about it. You talked about my eyes on at least three occasions, talked about me enough that your so-called friends were openly mocking you. You talked about the attractiveness of my eyes, typically something a man admires in a woman, but it wasn’t such a strange or embarrassing event that you bothered much about it this morning until you realised that you’d said some of it to my face and a lot more on camera. You held onto me when I caught you for a full ten seconds more than you needed to. You wore blue – in fact you’ve worn blue twenty-five percent more in the last two months, though I’m not sure yet if you’ve realised that it compliments my clothing and that I respond to you wearing it positively. This morning you derailed an important conversation to worry about my whereabouts last night even though you could see that I was unharmed. At the same time you blanched when I said the word 'gay' this morning, you took pains to exaggerate how drunk you were – you said you’d been drinking tequila when the video and your breath last night told me you’d been drinking beer – so you clearly wanted me to believe you were incredibly drunk and talking at random. There’s your evidence. That was mostly just from last night… I can give you a day by day breakdown for the last three months if you prefer.”

At least, John thinks faintly, that whatever this confusion was between them, it was mutual. And it’s suddenly a lot less confusing.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“I think… that I’m going to make an educated guess.”

John leans forward and captures Sherlock’s surprised mouth with his own.

\--

 

The next day John posts his latest blog entry.

_So I guess you’ve all seen this video. Thank you for the outpouring of support, though I’m not quite sure it’s deserved._

_I have been repeatedly informed that I meant ‘objectively’ rather than ‘statistically.’ Since I was drunk enough to rant on camera about my flatmate’s eyes I’m hoping you’ll forgive some confused terminology._

_Certain people are hoping for an explanation of what, exactly, I meant. I think at the time it was just drunken annoyance at yet another way that Sherlock swans around being effortlessly perfect all the time._

_That right there should clue you in, because just about everyone who has ever met Sherlock Holmes probably just spat out their drinks at the idea of him being perfect. Just as – objectively - his eyes are nice, I know that – objectively - he can be a huge git. The reason I put up with the bad stuff is because – subjectively - I think he’s pretty brilliant. Amazing even._

 

**The End.**


End file.
